


The Table Job

by alwaysamy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysamy/pseuds/alwaysamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is feeling possessive. Then he discovers a new use for Castiel's tie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Table Job

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Table Job](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/8136) by serenada_art. 



> Click through for the -- graphic, delicious, NSFW -- art, please! It's awesome.

Castiel is loosening his tie when Dean suddenly says, “Leave it.” 

He’s not sure where he’s going with the idea, but Cas doesn’t argue, even though one brow arches in curiosity. 

He doesn’t feel like discussing it, either, since he’s not even sure where the impulse came from, so he closes in on Cas and kisses him while he unbuttons Cas’s shirt. Lifting the collar, he slides the still knotted tie over it, and pulls the shirt down Cas’s arms and off when it’s completely open. 

“Should I help you, too?” Cas asks, serious as ever, when Dean backs up to get Cas’s white undershirt off. They haven’t been doing this for long, and Cas is, as always, full of questions. 

“Nah,” Dean whispers against Cas’s jaw as he reaches down to unbuckle Cas’s belt. “Not yet. Kick your shoes off.” 

Cas does as he’s told and shivers as Dean rubs his stubbled chin over the bare slope of one shoulder, then obediently steps out of his trousers as soon as Dean pushes them down over his narrow hips. The boxers go next--Dean still hasn’t convinced him to switch to boxer briefs--and then Cas is naked, trembling in the circle of Dean’s arms. 

Except for the tie. 

And god, that’s good. The glossy blue silk against all that pale skin is startling, and hotter than Dean expected. He’s barefoot himself, down to jeans and T-shirt, but he feels armored compared to Cas. The narrow loop of blue silk hanging around his neck only points up exactly how naked--how vulnerable--Cas is like this. 

And it reminds Dean, suddenly, with a flash of heat that goes straight to his dick, of a leash. 

“I’ll get what we need,” Cas murmurs, pushing the words against Dean’s cheek with his lip. It takes a moment for Dean to register the first soft wingbeat, and he grabs the tie without thinking. Cas rocks back into place, frowning, and Dean loops it tighter around his hand. 

“Stay. Put,” he growls, holding Cas’s gaze with as he reaches down to unbutton his jeans. 

Dean doesn’t want to stop to examine it too closely--self-reflection is Sam’s department, and Dean’s happy to leave him to it--but for a minute he wonders if the crux of this moment is just that. Cas can appear and disappear without warning--the first time they fucked, Dean roused himself from post-orgasm stupor to realize Cas was already gone. 

A guy has an ego, you know? 

There’s more to it than that, he’s sure, but for now he’s happy to work out his issues by keeping hold of Cas’s makeshift leash. At least Cas doesn’t seem inclined to argue. 

Until Dean has to let go long enough to pull his T-shirt over his head. He emerges from the washworn blue cotton to find Cas across the room, rummaging in Dean’s bag, and the rush of possessive frustration that streaks through him is white hot and a little shocking. 

“I said,” he grits out when he reaches Cas and turns him around, hand once again looped tightly in Cas’s tie, “stay put.” 

God, those eyes. Hot and blue and full of a million questions Dean will never be able to answer, not in the next few minutes anyway. He pulls Cas closer and slides an arm around his waist, cupping one firm cheek as he leans in for a kiss that’s more aggression than seduction. 

He hasn’t … wanted like this in a long time. And he’s still occasionally surprised to realize he has it at all--driving down some winding two-lane with Sam reading in the passenger seat beside him, Dean will suddenly land on a memory of the taste of Cas’s mouth, or the low, shocked noise he made the first time Dean jerked him off. 

He doesn’t really do relationships--Cassie taught him that. Usually he’s the one leaving, the one who manages to slip out without leaving a number. But this thing with Cas … for the first time, Dean’s the one wondering if and when Cas will show up. 

And when he’ll inevitably disappear again. 

Cas is still clutching the lube when Dean jerks back to the present, still watching him with those ridiculous anime eyes. Dean leans in and bites at his bottom lip as he takes the lube away. “Don’t need this yet.” 

“No?” The word is shuddered out on a ragged breath; Dean’s pulled the tie to one side to get at Cas’s throat, and his free hand is busy between Cas’s legs. 

“Then we should take this to the bed,” Cas says. His cock is already hot and rigid in Dean’s hand. 

“No,” Dean growls, nothing but stubborn now. He backs Cas up, toward the table against the wall, and hefts him up without warning. The beer bottle beside him tips over with a mostly hollow clink, beer dripping to the floor, but Dean ignores it and spreads Cas’s legs roughly. “Right here.” 

Hooking one foot behind the chair behind him, he drags it close enough to sit, and looks up to find Cas flushed, breath coming fast and shallow already. 

And splayed on the table like a feast, all for Dean. The rush of power in his blood is almost hotter than the thrill of possession, and when Cas groans and wriggles, he yanks the tie roughly. “I said stay put.” 

His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, but he can’t seem to stop himself. And Cas isn’t arguing anyway--Cas is clutching his arm like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth, and his cock is jutting up hard and proud, already wet at the tip. 

Dean hooks his free arm under Cas’s leg as he leans down to kiss it, but he doesn’t let go of the tie. He won’t--no, he can’t, he’s pretty sure. He wants Cas right here, right now, just like this, and given the way Cas shudders when Dean gets the whole head of his dick in his mouth, he’s just fine with it. 

Cas tastes good--musky and salty and somehow sweet--and he’s shuddering with the effort to draw the pleasure out. The fingers of one hand are still buried in Dean’s forearm, and the silk of the tie is rasping against his chest as he pants. He’s hard as a rock, twitching as Dean sucks, and one foot keeps connecting with Dean’s kidney as he bucks through each sensation. 

And that’s all good. It’s perfect, knowing that he has control over this moment, that he’s made Cas speechless and needy, that Cas is gripping him like he’s afraid Dean will get up and walk out. 

When Cas finally breathes out his name, his whole body stiffening as orgasm hits him, Dean reaches between his own legs with his free hand. It takes only four or five rough strokes and he’s coming, too, spilling wet-hot all over his hand and his belly. He’s too blissed to keep swallowing, and it isn’t until a minute later that he realizes Cas is wiping his chin with shaking fingers. 

His wrist is cramped, and the muscles in his arm are complaining, but when he tilts his face up, Cas is smiling. It’s not a grin--it’s almost never a grin--but a small, secret smile, the one only Dean ever sees. It’s soft, a smear of satisfaction, but it’s the smile Dean loves. 

He stands up, pulling on the tie to get Cas closer, and finally lets go long enough to put both arms around him. With his face buried in the sweaty crook of Cas’s neck, he whispers, “Good?” 

“Very good,” Cas agrees, and turns his head to press a warm kiss to the back of Dean’s head. “I will always stay if you ask, Dean. And if you don’t want to ask, well … demanding works, too.” 

He’s actually blushing when Dean lifts his head to look at him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, grinning. “I’ve got a whole list of demands.”


End file.
